Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
The excitement in her voice reminds me of when we were little kids. I can’t help but be affected by it, making my way over to the sculpture with a grin on my face.
“Cool shit,” I say as I inspect the piece. “Wait? Is that a dick? Mom’s sculpture has a dick on it.”
We both crack up laughing. She’s trying and failing through her giggles to explain it’s a replica of the statue of David.
My phone starts ringing in my pocket. I step away from my sister, quickly answering it in case it’s Sloane wanting to meet somewhere.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Park?”
Okay, so it’s not Sloane.
“Eh, Dempsey.” I pull my phone away from my ear and see a number I don’t recognize. “What’s up?”
“This is Todd Wright at PMU. I’m the dean of the art department.”
“Oh, hey, man.”
“I’ve gone over all the submissions for the art expo and yours surpassed everyone’s. Not just in skill and beauty, but you really captured a moment—an emotion of such utter longing.”
My gut twists. “Cool.”
Todd chuckles. “Yeah, cool. An understatement, though. I’d really like to showcase the piece. That would entail having your own roped exhibit area where you can include some other pieces if you have them. We’d also want to put your art on the banners and programs.”
“Really? Wow. I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes, please.” He laughs again. “A lot of the digital artwork we have submitted is more illustrations than anything. Yours is realism and rivals actual photography. I know we’ll have plenty of art students who will have questions, too. Not to mention, some of Seattle’s artists will be at the event. You could easily be offered a place in one of their shops to sell your work.”
Holy shit.
It’s really happening.
“Yes,” I say in a rush. “I mean, thank you, sir. It’s an honor.”
“Make sure you invite your family, too,” Todd encourages. “I’m sure they’ll be so pleased.”
“Of course,” I lie.
There’s no way in hell I’m inviting my family to see my art. I’ll tell them about my success after the fact. The last thing I need is to catch grief over something I’m really proud of.
“We’re looking forward to having you in our art program, Dempsey. It’s not often we have such talent come through our university’s doors, but when it does, we don’t sleep on it. PMU will be lucky to have you and hopefully, this will be the start of a fruitful career for you.”
Sold, Todd.
After we end the call, I have this overwhelming urge to share the news with someone. The only person I feel like celebrating with, though, is Sloane. I scan the crowd of forty or fifty of Mom and Dad’s closest friends and our family, searching for the familiar pretty face. When I finally land on it, I breathe a sigh of relief.
She’s here.
In her signature navy-blue dress and looking uncomfortable as fuck around all these people. I smile tugs at my lips. Sometimes Sloane is so awkward, but it’s adorable as hell. She’s talking to my parents, giving them her best fake smile.
Her smiles are real for me.
I’m about to wave at her to get her attention when a man steps beside her. He’s wearing a navy-blue button-down shirt that matches her dress almost exactly. As soon as I look at his face, I know who it is.
Her date from the pool hall.
The air is knocked out of my lungs as I stare at them in confusion. She didn’t tell me she was seeing him again. Hurt needles its way into my heart, poking and poking and poking until I have to rub at the center of my chest to ease the ache there.
He’s charismatic and rich and well put together.
With their matching outfits, they look like a couple.
Fuck. That.
He doesn’t make her smile the way I do. I’m not sure many people have seen a true Sloane smile.
But then her face lights up, a stunning grin curving her lips up. Her blue eyes sparkle with excitement and happiness.
Well, hell. Maybe he can make her smile.
It takes a second for my brain to catch up to where her smile is directed. It’s not at my parents or the goober beside her. It’s for me. She’s staring at me.
I make a subtle gesture toward the exit. Her small nod is all I need to feel like everything is right in my world again.
Quickly, before one of my family members can intercept me, I slip through the crowd and out the side door. The air is warm tonight and smells like pine. I step around the corner and wait for the woman of my dreams to make an appearance.
Moments later, her blond head peeks around the corner, still wearing that beautiful smile I love so damn much.
“Hey,” I rumble. “I see you escaped from your date.”